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We Need New Stories is a series of 9 short new audio stories inspired by oral history interviews of Zimbabwean-born residents living in Nottingham.
Everyone featured in the oral histories were interviewed on camera in October 2022 by young people from the African diaspora. The resulting stories have been dramatised by playwright Zodwa Nyoni and recorded by actors.
You can view the original oral history interviews on each of the episode pages on Fifth Word's Website and in person at Nottingham Local Studies Library. The series also contains a bonus episode featuring an interview between playwright Zodwa Nyoni and director Anastasia Osei-Kuffour about the making of these audio stories.
All episodes are available for free on major listening platforms. Some stories contain sensitive subject matter including references to violence and racism.
This project has been supported by the National Lottery’s Heritage Fund, Nottingham Playhouse and The Space.
You are listening to
We Need New Stories.
All episodes in this
series are available on
major listening platforms
and on Fifth Word's
website, episode eight.
Magline's story, A second
class citizen written
by Zodwa Nyoni and
directed by Anastasia
Anastasia Osei-Kuffour.
This episode contains
references to
violence and racism.
Are you comfortable?
Yes, I am.
Okay, so the story goes.
The seventh child of the
seventh son was born a girl.
They named her
Magline.
It's Gogo to you.
You don't call me
by my first name.
I am your grandmother.
I am always Gogo.
Sorry, Gaga.
Two more children would
follow her, and the family
of 11 would be complete.
The nine siblings would
grow up in Selukwe, a
town founded in 1899 and
known for gold mining.
Their father had
bought a farm after the
fifth child was born.
He was one of a few black
farmers to do so in the area.
I would love to live on a farm
and have loads of animals.
If you work hard in school
like your dad, maybe one
day you will be like your
great-grandfather and
buy your own farm too.
Keep going, Gaga.
The siblings grew up during
a colonial era surrounded
by white families.
They learned to get on well
and looked after each other.
But it would be the boys the
world placed their promise in.
The girls were expected
to carry duty as Magline's
mother had done when she
was married off at 15 by
her father, a wealthy Chief.
Magline watched as some girls
left school at grade six
while boys like her brothers
graduated from universities.
When they returned, they
joined the police force.
This was a respectable job
for black boys and men.
Magline's family had
generations of men in service.
Magline's paternal Grandfather
came to Rhodesia from South
Africa on missionary work
with Cecil Rhodes, a mining
magnet who aims to conquer
from the Cape to Cairo in the
name of the British empire.
The Methodist preached from
the Bible while Magline's
grandfather cooked for him.
Accompanying ministers and
other black workers, the
congregation settles in
Matopos, but the religious
message spread far and wide.
Magline's parents wanted
more for their daughter.
They tilled the earth
all year to make money.
If Magline wanted a better
future, she too would have to
dig her hands into the soil.
All summer, she workeded
alongside the seasonal
Malawian farmer workers to
harvest cotton, potatoes,
maize, tobacco and peanut.
She studied hard and after
her Cambridge exams, wished
to finish form five and six
and then go to university,
but the expectations of
girls crept up on her again.
Magline's was called
a white for wanting
something different.
She was reminded of her
choices teaching or nursing.
She begged and pleaded
with her teachers for more
time, but she was forced
to apply to nursing.
That's not nice.
You shouldn't force
people to do something
they don't want to do.
This was very
different time, my boy.
I didn't have many
choices like you do now.
So what did Magline,
I mean, the girl do.
By late 1964, a telegram
came informing Magline
that she would begin
her nursing training in
the following January.
And so before the rest of
her life began, she hung
out with her friends.
They'd been a strong group
throughout high school.
One boy had caught her eye.
He was three years older
and worked on the railways.
Young love is intense
and moves fast.
They'd go to the cinema
and attend concerts.
Cliff Richards, Percy Sledge
and Otis Redding were the
soundtrack to their romance.
By Magline's third year in
training, they were in love.
They had a
traditional wedding.
Lobola, her dowry was paid and
soon they had a son, Thulani.
My daddy.
Your dad.
My precious boy, my sister
is the one who came to
the hospital to name him.
He was so quiet.
She said he needed a
name that matched him.
do you know what your
dad's name means?
No.
The quiet one.
Thulani.
That's right.
Now, everything seemed
like it was going well,
but Magline's husband, who
promised her parents she
would accomplish her goals
of studying midwifery in
England, just like her sister
was doing in Nottingham, was
starting to change his mind.
The closer her departure
approached, the more reluctant
he became for her to go.
Magline's hands had
dug dirt, carried books
and broken bodies to
end the right to learn.
Do you know what it
means to earn something.
To work very hard?
And that's what she'd done.
In 1974, she left her son
in the care of her parents
at their farm and boarded
flight 7 2 5 to England.
She'd expected the British
sophistication, which
had coated her life to
be as such in the mother
country, but here she
found no milk and honey.
The plan was to train for
two years and return home,
but the war against the
colonial rule intensified.
The village hospital
where she would use her
skills was no longer safe.
Her family advised her
to stay in England.
they started sending nieces
and nephews to her as their
futures could not be promised
during shelling and bombings.
Her son was not sent for
as he was safe on the farm.
Daddy told me about how
much he loved living there
and me too.
I missed so much when
I was working here.
Magline was raising children
and working at City Hospital.
She had little time to party,
unlike her white counterparts
who'd often come to her
asking to borrow her notes.
Kindly she'd oblige, but
would soon learn that the
tutors thought she was the
one copying their work.
Her mark of 55% paled in
comparison to their 96%.
Magline had already
sacrificed a marriage
in defense of herself.
She would not lose a career.
She marched to the principal's
office and filed a complaint.
The tutor was called to
provide an explanation.
They all knew what was
happening, but no one
would outrightly say
racial discrimination.
From that day, the tutor
marked accordingly, and by
the end of the year, the
white nurses had failed.
Go, gaga.
Magline never tried to make
friends with those nurses.
Her close friends were two
West Indian nurses who also
knew what being a second
class citizen felt like.
One was from Birmingham
and the other came
straight from Jamaica.
The trio would travel
the country together,
meeting other mid wives.
On longer breaks, they'd
go abroad to Africa
and explore Europe.
They needed the respite
to cleanse their spirits
of the brutality of their
hospital shifts while
white nurses did paperwork
at desks and drink teas.
Often the black nurses would
be the ones assigned to
treat serious infections,
to clean blood bays and
operating theaters, and
to cradle premature babies
as they took their last
breaths in the snatched
moments between patients.
Magline would beg God to
help her through it all.
the first year of her arrival
in England ended with her
slipping three discs and
being bedridden for six
months because a doctor
had ordered her to lift a
heavily pregnant woman alone.
Though entitled to
compensation, Magne was made
to feel guilty for taking the
money and being off sick by
nurses who'd made careers of
knitting in offices instead
of caring for patients.
Magline couldn't afford
to quit, her pay took care
of her nieces and nephews,
and son and mother, and
father and sisters and
brother and sister-in-law.
The girl who once had
muddy hands and big dreams
was now the custodial of
other people's aspirations.
She worked through the
pain and loneliness.
The only relief came
when her brother and his
wife moved to Nottingham
from Newcastle in 1976.
They all crammed into a
flat, which was sweltering
in the summer and left you
frost bitten in the winter.
The Indian landlord
refused to fix the heater.
Magline's brother
would soon escape to
the tropics of Guyana.
You all should have
gone to the sun.
If we had left, your dad
wouldn't have met your
mom here, and then we
wouldn't have had you.
So it was good that we stayed.
God had a plan for us.
By 1978, urgent news
would come from back home.
Rebels who were killing
black farmers, they believed
were wealthy and made money
from exporting their goods.
Magline's Parents' Farm
was no longer a safe
sanctuary for Thulani.
She quickly applied for his
visa and sent for her son.
In the hardship,
Thulani was the beacon
of light she needed.
She waited for him at the
airport with a brand new
red coat for the winter.
When he came through
arrivals, accompanied by
the air stewards, they
raved about how impressive
and eloquent her son was.
Of all the things in her
life, Magline knew with
this boy she'd be first
class in raising him.
Magline poured 13 more
years of herself into the N
H S when her body could no
longer carry the weight of
all that she'd sacrificed.
She retired in 1991.
Thulani was thriving
in his studies.
Magline's days was
spent marveling at the
man he was becoming.
She'd keep praying and finding
strength to be in England.
Her son could have many
choices in her heart.
Magline always kept a suitcase
packed for when it was
time to return to Zimbabwe.
But when Thulani met, a
beautiful Ugandan woman,
got married and had a son.
That's me.
Yes, you Christopher.
She knew that she
would never leave.
They were her home.
Her greatest achievement.
The end.
Say it again.
No.
Oh, please, grandma.
Tomorrow it's bedtime.
Thank you for listening.
The next episode in this
series is Nicole's story,
Loving People from a Distance.
If you enjoyed this series,
please share with others
all episodes of We Need New
Stories are available on
major listening platforms
and on Fifth Word's website.